


It's Only Love

by amelioratedays



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Idol Verse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:39:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelioratedays/pseuds/amelioratedays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's only love, Youngjae decides. Does he not deserve that either?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Only Love

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed and what did I just write? D:

It’s love.  
  
What they had in between them; fingers intertwining and parted lips meeting. Jaebum confesses to him one starry night, voice sonorous and spiked with anxiety as he speaks. Youngjae meets his gaze and can’t stop thinking how Jaebum’s eyes are brighter than stars. How the soft touches are like sparks of electricity running through his neurons, and that his voice makes him want to suicide off a eighty story skyscraper. The older male’s cautious and caring, knowing when to pull Youngjae into embraces and when to whisper compliments. Knows how it’s okay to hook index fingers with Youngjae as the younger male nods. Knows how it’s okay to lean in and capture the other’s lips. They’re in love, Youngjae thinks. And there’s really nothing wrong with that, right?  
  
But love doesn’t stop the monsters from swallowing him whole, parasites eating him from the inside. Doesn’t stop him from jolting awake at night, cold sweat lacing his skin, from horrid nightmares of malicious orders and hushed whimpers. Locked memories reliving themselves as Youngjae remembers rainy days and crimson stains. Remembers locked doors and dented lockers, where there’s vermillion flowers on his forehead and someone is writing graffiti with his blood. Capital F for how Youngjae was fucked senseless in the bathroom stall, head banging against the metal door. Capital A for how they shoved themselves repeatedly into his ass, ignoring his screams and moaning at his pain. Capital G for how they left him on grimy floors, cum spread over his face and body, filling his ears with raspy whispers of, “I heard you were gay” and “Did you enjoy that?” It’s at times like this that Youngjae forfeits sleep and opts to stare into his ceiling until morning comes and the monsters retreat with the shadows. They don’t completely go away though, claws lingering on his neck, weighted pressure on his throat.  
  
It’s only love.  
Does he not deserve this either?  
  
He sleeps less and less, falling asleep later and later. No one really notices though, because he’s still Youngjae who sleeps through twenty alarms and wakes up at the last minute. He’s still Youngjae that hides himself in the backseat of their car, covering himself with his coat. Except he isn’t resting, he simply closes his eyes and tries to will the hands off his neck. It doesn’t work and he tries to pry them off. But it only results in long red gashes on the side of his jugular. No one notices though as Youngjae tells their stylist to cover it with foundation, swallowing down the grimaces when the wounds sear. Jaebum finds out anyways, later that night as he runs his fingertips across his neck. Youngjae shivers at the touch and Jaebum kisses his wounds away, moist breath painting butterflies on his skin. He doesn’t tell him though, that the scar on his scalp will stay forever. That the whispers on his skin still lingers. The claws move to his chest, pounding his lungs in. Youngjae doesn’t sleep that night and he spends it wondering how he manages to breathe.  
  
The pain in his chest cavity carries on for the week and Youngjae feels terrible, because he’s a shit lead vocal. He runs out of air during rehearsals and his breath hitches during the live performances. Everything’s unstable and Youngjae can feel the claws digging out his heart and lungs, eating them raw. When he settles backstage, he can’t really tell if his members are looking at him with concerned or begrudging looks. Maybe it’s a bit of both, he decides. And when Jaebum is called upstairs during practice, Youngjae stares at the doorway even when Jaebum’s disappeared in the distance, eyes fixated and lips tight. He thinks he wants to eat his heart and lungs too, spear through them with daggers.  
  
Jaebum holds him too tight when he comes back, eyes downcast and shoulders heavy (with burdens, expectations, and responsibilities). “I’m sorry,” he whispers into the older male’s mouth, voice soft and vulnerable. Jaebum pushes him back into the basement wall and when his flesh makes contact with hard cement, Youngjae thinks it numbs the emptiness in his chest. He leans his head back and Jaebum’s suddenly pressed against him; one hand slipping underneath his shirt, another pulling Youngjae’s leg around his waist. It’s a matter of moments before Jaebum’s fumbling with his belt buckle and he’s yanking the leader’s shirt off. It’s love. It’s lust. And when Jaebum enters him, touches gentle and cautious, Youngjae thinks his heart’s beating again.  
  
“I love you,” Jaebum mumbles into his ear.  
  
“I love you,” Youngjae mutters in the crook of Jaebum’s neck.  
  
The monsters move to his stomach next, parasites digesting itself, and Youngjae stops eating. He skips dinner and the others don’t retaliate, because after all, they’re promoting and a leaner image is always better fit for camera. Jinyoung tries to make him healthier snacks in the morning and Jackson tells their managers to get granola bars for their waiting room. Youngjae doesn’t tell them though, that he regurgitates the food Jinyoung wakes up an hour early to make. That he feeds the granola bars to Nora. His cheeks hollow out and the number on the scale keeps dropping, but he hides himself well under clothing a size too big.  
  
But of course Jaebum notices, eyes fully opening when his fingers graze over the younger member’s ribs. “You’re skin and bones,” he reprimands and Youngjae’s ‘diet’ stops all together. Responsible leader thrown aside, Jaebum takes Youngjae out for dinner (three hours after their curfew) and watches him finish all that he has ordered. Youngjae throws it all back up twenty minutes later in the restaurant bathroom. He’s convulsing, brittle knees on ceramic tiles, and Jaebum holds him till his bones break. He’s in the same spot, he laughs, leaning against the walls of a bathroom stall. Youngjae thinks he’s heaved out his soul.  
  
They kiss, behind locked doors, and Youngjae feels repulsive because there’s vomit in his mouth and Jaebum still kisses him like he’s the most precious thing on the world. “Stop,” he mumbles and it comes out as a muffle against Jaebum’s lips. He’s trembling again, tears falling uncontrollably. He feels disgusting, tears and sweat and bile all becoming one and Jaebum is still holding him like fragile glass. Youngjae tries to push away, futile attempts because he’s empty—no strength, no will. “Stop,” he repeats and when he finally pulls away, he realizes that Jaebum’s crying as well. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I love you,” he replies.  
  
But it’s too much, and Youngjae stops him because Jaebum’s too gentle, too warm—too perfect. And Youngjae’s too broken, too soiled—too fucking imperfect. He’s too insufficient for Jaebum’s love. He’s trying, he really is, but he only sinks back every night to the same nightmares that skins him alive. It’s only love.  _Why is it so difficult?_  He’s hollowing himself to the other and Youngjae feels pathetic, because he loves Jaebum and he doesn’t want to love Jaebum all at the same time. He wants to adhere to status quos and social norms and he hates Jaebum for inversing everything, taking his new life and turning it upside down. Youngjae wants to move on, wants a new start, but old wounds keep reopening and everything keeps bleeding. Youngjae sees monsters in his angels.  
  
It’s only love.  
And Youngjae thinks he doesn’t deserve to love anymore.


End file.
